“Then you will certainly know how to pay?” said Itzig, with a forced laugh.

“But how if I cannot pay?” said Gotzkowsky, sadly.

Itzig stepped back, and gazed at him horrified.

“If I cannot pay,” continued Gotzkowsky, impressively; “if I am unable to pay half a million for Leipsic, another half million for the Russian claims, after having lost the same amount yesterday by the new treasury ordinance—­what would you say to that, Itzig?”

Itzig listened to him with increasing terror, and gradually his features assumed an expression of hatred and savage rage.  When Gotzkowsky had finished, he raised his clasped hands to heaven, as if imploring the wrath of God on the head of the sinner.  “My God! sir, are you, then, going to fail?”

Gotzkowsky seized his hand, and looked into his quivering face with an expression of intense anxiety.  “Listen to me, Itzig.  I may yet be saved; every thing depends upon my obtaining a delay, that my credit may not be shaken.  You are rich—­”

“No, I am poor,” interrupted Itzig, vehemently.  “I am perfectly poor; I have nothing but what I earn.”

“But you can earn a great deal,” said Gotzkowsky, with a faint smile.  “I wish to effect a loan from you.  Take my word of honor as security.”

“Your word of honor!” cried Itzig, thrusting back his hand.  “What can I do with your word of honor?  I cannot advance any money on it.”

“Consider! the honor of my name is concerned—­and this, till now, I have kept unsullied before God and man!” cried Gotzkowsky, imploringly.

“And if my own honor was concerned,” exclaimed Itzig, “I would rather part with it than my money.  Money makes me a man.  I am a Jew.  I have nothing but money—­it is my life, my honor!  I cannot part with any of it.”

But Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be repulsed.  It seemed to him that his future, his honor, his whole life hung upon this moment.  He felt like a gambler who has staked his last hope upon one throw of the dice.  If this fails, all hope is gone; no future, no life is left, nothing but the grave awaits him.  With impetuous violence he seized the hand of the rich Itzig.  “Oh!” said he, “remember the time when you swore eternal gratitude to me.”

“I never would have sworn it,” cried Itzig—­“no, by the Eternal, I never would have done it, if I had thought you would ever have needed it!”

“The honor of my name is at stake!” cried Gotzkowsky, in a tone of heart-rending agony.  “Do you not understand that this is to me my life?  Remember your vow!  Let your heart for once feel sympathy—­act as a man toward his fellow-man.  Advance me money upon my word of honor.  No, not on that alone—­on my house, on all that belongs to me.  Lend me the sum I need.  Oh!  I will repay it in a princely manner.  Help me over only these shoals, and my gratitude to you will be without bounds.  You have a heart—­take pity on me!”